


Twine

by Opo



Category: Cassidy - Fandom, Gabrielle - Fandom, Jessica - Fandom, Sad - Fandom, Serious - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-27
Updated: 2011-12-26
Packaged: 2017-10-28 05:39:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 22
Words: 8,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/304343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Opo/pseuds/Opo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The stories of three little girls and their trials.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I actually wrote this four or five years ago and just kinda hung on to it. It's not exactly a cheerful work though I think the endings are happy. But I do feel obligated to give you a heads up - this story deals with everything from young girls in gangs (sort of) to rape, molestation, and even touches on child prostitution. So if you have personal experiences with such things you may encounter flashbacks. HOWEVER, for all its seriousness it is a story that inspires a lot of thought and again does have a happy ending.
> 
> Anyhow, I hope you enjoy and do know that not all of my works are going to be of this nature. This is actually one of the very few works I ever did that was so sad. Not surprisingly I wrote it while I was going through a dark time.
> 
> Anyhow, enjoy, rate, comment and all that fun stuff! Love you guys!

Cassidy

  


When she learned why she had been named what she was named, she was momentarily thrilled. So many possibilities! So many potential nicknames! Cass, Cassie, Sid, Dee, so on and so forth… Which child wouldn’t be thrilled with the option of so many names, just like the superheroes in the movies? 

  


But the excitement died quickly, suddenly—hurled down to the ground as one without wings would after jumping off a cliff. Cassidy was no name, but a curse, she remembered as her mind whirled back to school and the children there. The only nickname she had ever gotten were curse words: Ass. Bitch. Witch. Evil child. Misfortune. Demon child.

  


She had pointed out to her friends that "ass" was in her name purely because she had thought it funny—amusing. But it had gotten out of hand. Anyone older would have expected it, anyone more experienced in life. But she was young and naïve and a bit too trusting. And they were all sixth graders.

  


"If ass is in her name, then she must be one." 

  


"If she's an ass, she must be a bitch."

  


"Did he say she was a bitch or a witch?"

  


"She's a witch! Evil child, evil!"

  


"Evil? Eww! Isn't the devil evil?"

  


"The devil is horrible!"

  


"She's so misfortunate."

  


"She's a demon child!"

  


"See how she always sits alone? Loner!"

  


"Run, she's casting a spell on you!"

  


"Witchy bitch! Witchy bitch!"

  


"Bitchy witch! Bitchy witch!"

  


She had had so many friends from the year before. She wondered where they were now. Soon, though, she wondered where her friends from that year were—why weren't they talking to her? Why were they over on the other side of the room? Why wouldn’t they look at her except for out of the corner of their eyes with a snicker? What had she done? She didn’t know, and didn’t know how to fix it.

  


Now new people sat by her—cruel people. People who insisted upon shoving staples into their bodies—people who insisted that she watch; and she knew that they only hurt themselves like that because they enjoyed her reaction. Silently squirming and trying to avert her eyes, trying to get away, but without them getting in trouble with the teacher… because she still actually cared about whether or not they got hurt, despite the perverseness of it all. People who grabbed her arms and pinned her while they harmed themselves; people who seemed to have it all strategically planned so that the teacher never knew. Not that she ever made much sound to alert anyone nearby. 

  


Besides, one couldn't go around screaming wolf even if the wolf was chewing off their leg in that world. Should one be so foolish as to do such, the pack knew—and the pack made you pay. Her mouth was shown shut with twine and the only way she could tell her story was to rip her lips in many places, to inflict so much damage that the words would be unrecognizable.

  


Books became her sanctuary—the only solid, real one she could have and hold, the only one that wouldn't melt away and hurt her. She would cry, of course—at home, deep within her room, sitting in the darkest corner. That was where she vented, that was when she vented—when she knew no one else would see her.

  


Her heart was breaking in a million pieces and no one heard a thing.

  


She was in sixth grade and she wanted to die.

  


After graduation, though, she moved. It was a welcome relief.


	2. Chapter 2

Gabrielle

  


Night was her temple and her forest--her dark forest black in the night, smelling of blood and musk, of death and burning flesh. Every night she lied down to sleep and couldn't--wouldn't. Next to her bed was a window leading to the neighborhood, so dull and boring that any child living there as she was truly a child to pity.

  


She hated that window; she hated what she saw whenever she looked at it at night. She watched that window and, in turn, watched the man--the man she hated. He walked towards her bed and each step he took--each invisible, unreal step--made her eyes widen and panic rise within her. The urge to scream was strong and took a vice-grip on her throat, begging, pleading her to release it. She refused, just like always, instead running across the room, dodging the dark shadows, and turned on a reading light on the edge of her dresser. She sat in that light, scrunched up into a ball in the small circle of light, moving in quick, jolting movements out of the darkness, hurting herself to make her body fit into the circle of light. Desperate to escape the dark. Desperate to escape the man. 

  


She hated that man.

  


She wasn't sure how she had gotten back in her bed the next morning. She just remembered waking up in the warm, enveloping sheets of her bed. Once she absorbed her surroundings, she jolted awake, grasping and groping at her clothing, making sure it was still there. Tears springing to her eyes as she first discovered skin, and then spilling as she found her shirt still clinging protectively to her body.

  


It was morning now, light spilled into the room from the window she had hated.

  


She loved that window, but wondered how it could possess such a cheery scene as the tree with a bird's nest nestled comfortably in the branches.

  


She looked at her reading light and found it off. She didn't remember shutting it off--she didn't remember moving from the circle of light. She didn't remember dreaming, either.

  


She looked around her room and almost immediately wished she hadn't. Her bags stood at attention next to her door, behind the plastic, largely unreliable yet trusted dog that barked whenever someone passed by. Her bags. It made her remember that she was going to her daddy's house today. She didn't like remembering.

  


But it's all normal, she chided herself. You're just weird.

  


Besides, her lips were sown together with twine. Mouths like hers needed to be sown, mouths like hers needed to stay shut.

  


"Get ready, Gabrielle!" she heard her mommy call from the other end of the house. "Your daddy will be here in a few hours!"

  


She reached up and touched her lips. The twine wasn't there, but she could feel it.


	3. Chapter 3

Jessica

  


She had to wonder how the grown women could do it. She hated taking those photos. She hated posing and showing those three things that men liked so much—the innocent, the broken, and the provocative. She was good at doing those three things, they all were. They all had to be.

  


She didn't understand how men could like those things. How could they enjoy watching girls like her be broken? How could they imagine girls like her provocative? How could they take advantage of the innocence in girls like her?

  


Looking around to the others, she quickly realized that innocence was not present in this place. There was no such thing as innocence among them, only pretend.

  


She clutched her clothes to her chest, her knuckles white from her grip, unashamed of her nudity. No, she was unashamed of her nudity, but she was ashamed of her body. She rubbed at her face, wanting so much to get the make-up off. She hated the stuff. It was thick and strange on her skin.

  


There were men around this place. Some looked strange and foreign. She wouldn't be surprised if she was to entertain a few of them. 

  


But no, she thought. They're looking at the other girls. She took another scan, and then stopped. No, wait, one is looking at me. Some men, when they looked at her, seemed to be almost disgusted at her presence--or maybe it was just her--and others not so much.

  


Her daddy touched her shoulder and smiled down at her, though his eyes were elsewhere. "Good job, Jess, you did good."

  


She looked to the man who was still staring at her, a grin now plastered on his face. "Who is he, Daddy?"

  


Her daddy looked at the man. "Oh, he's just a friend. I told him about you and he was eager to meet you."

  


Translation: Entertainee.

  


She nodded, smiled up at her daddy, then went into her room.

  


In truth, she hated this. Smiles were meaningless and stupid--others seemed to enjoy it, though. She wasn't allowed to complain, though.

  


She knelt by her bed and pulled out from under it a small suitcase. She opened it, revealing papers among papers. The one on the top was a picture of a girl with blonde hair like hers and the same eye colour. The hair was simply a bunch of harsh yellow lines placed on top of a meaningless oval, meant to be the head. The girl had eyes and they stared out. There was a red line representing her mouth on the lower portion of the oval with brown lines drawn violently over the red slash.

  


There was a fancy word she had heard for something that was like rope, but stronger, she thought. Twine, she thought the word might be. Yes, it was twine, she was pretty sure. The brown lines were twine.

  


The door to her bedroom opened and she hurriedly shut the suitcase, then pushed it under her bed again. Then she turned around and smiled.


	4. Chapter 4

Cassidy

  


She berated herself. Each and every night it was her ritual--a ritual much like that of sacrificing a lamb, rather useless and painful, but done anyway. Why had she thought that middle school would be any different? Why had she thought that the people here would be any different? Everyone was the same in the core of their being.

  


New friends? They were jokes. She had already made the mistake of letting one girl in even a bit, let her know a few weaknesses and the like, and she had betrayed her. Why had she even tried? The girls were all the same, the boys quiet and always distant--of no help and no consequence.

  


She wouldn't make the same mistake again, she wouldn't let them hurt her again.

  


She had befriended--or, as befriended as a betrayed girl could let one be--her teachers. They were okay, some of them, others more so, the rest not so. They wouldn't hurt her, though. At least, she hoped not. She wanted to trust them, but she didn't want to get hurt again. If she couldn't trust her friends or her teachers, then she would truly be alone. At school anyway. She knew she still had her family, but she was at a stage in her life where confiding in her family her troubles and concerns were not an option.

  


She had to find somewhere to stay during lunch, though. Lunch and the ten minute break they were allowed. Soon she would find such a place that offered warmth in the winter and protection from all those--or most of those--who wanted to harm her.

  


The library fascinated her. Books upon books, knowledge and entertainment at her fingertips, computers for any online search she wanted to do. Yet it seemed there was never enough time to get to everything. Soon, all of her time was consumed by the books and knowledge. Before school, during the break, and lunch time--all dedicated to finding and discovering that which had been limited elsewhere.

  


She dabbled often, constantly finding new perspectives and prospective that utterly fascinated her mind completely, rendering her incapacitated until she ran to find the knowledge or story that enthralled her mind so. Soon, she had authors and ideas and concepts that were not fascinated by her mind anymore, but of her mind.

  


This was her place and she was fully content with it being so.

  


Then she was sucked into another world.


	5. Chapter 5

Gabrielle

  


She still hated that window. She hated how there was no covering from it, how it showed her the outside world. Every night, lying down to sleep, she watched it and hated it. The man with the beard and slight beer gut came towards her and she hated it. She hated him.

  


But now the window installed a new fear in her. Every night, in that window, she saw the possibility of death. She was afraid constantly that there would be a bang, glass would shatter, and she would wind up with a hole in her body as she slowly drifted away, bleeding over her room.

  


She didn't get physically upset over this prospect, however. It chilled her to the bones, but she never became sick from it. It was no an illness, it was a fear instilled in her.

  


She was glad it was Tuesday, though. The weekend was over.

  


She was glad Mommy and her daddy didn't live together anymore, too. Though she sometimes missed Daddy, she hardly ever missed her daddy. She didn't like that man--the man with the beer gut and unshaven face. She didn't like some of the men Mommy dated, it wasn't for the same reason she didn't like her daddy. The men Mommy dated she just didn't like because she didn't want them to take Mommy away. She loved Mommy more than they did, anyway.

  


In the morning, she ran through the house with her brother, yelling at each other as siblings do. Her favourite place, though, was outside. She liked the grape vines and mint and oranges and apples that grew in her back yard. She also loved climbing the trees. 

  


She loved climbing. Climbing was fun. Rocks, trees, fences, gates... As long as she would land safely, she would jump from the top, too.

  


The mint was nice. She would pluck it and sell it to Mommy when Mommy got home--five cents per stem. The grapes were different, though. She couldn't reach the grapes on her own, so she had to wait for Mommy to get home and get the ladder in order to get those. The oranges she would occasionally get and the apples she tried to feed to the bunnies she and her brother had--Snow and Apple. Snow was hers. It had red eyes and white fur. She loved Snow.

  


Snow didn't seem to return her feelings of affection. Every time she tried to pet Snow, it tried to bite her. It succeeded sometimes, too. The she would cry for a while and then, afterwards, go chase after a garter snake or catch fireflies and dragonflies in jars and containers, always sad when they died only days later.

  


Mommy was going out on more and more dates. She liked this man, though. He was a gentleman.

  


Then Mommy got married and everything changed.


	6. Chapter 6

Jessica

  


She scrolled down the web page, looking at their pictures. How could men like these? How could they see these pictures and desire them in all their pain and ugliness? Their bodies were nice, yes, but she saw through it all. She watched the pictures move, the eyes betraying the actors in all of their endeavours. Of course, only she saw this. Others saw lust in their eyes. They saw what they wanted to see, not what they needed to see.

  


She loved the internet and hated it at the same time. She went to places like Neopets and played games and occasionally talked to a few people. Her daddy didn't care as long as she never gave out personal information.

  


The door opened and she looked up briefly before returning her gaze to the computer screen. It was simply her daddy returning from the bar or drug store down the street. She wondered if he had gone with his friends Carlos and Tony as well.

  


Later on that night, she pulled out a box of fake tattoos, grabbing the ones like barbed wire and weeping roses with too many thorns, yet still beautiful, and stamping them on her body with warm water, clad in only a pair of underwear as the television lit her way and hummed with noise as the people on it did their jobs--very different than her own. 

  


Could it even be called that? A job? She wasn't getting paid--oh yes, she knew about payroll and all that--and it wasn't exactly something to help her in the future. Unless she just stood there and didn't walk away.

  


Looking at the finished product--a heart surrounded by barbed wire--she remembered the tattoo her daddy had with her name on it. Except his was on his chest and it was real. Looking at her own tattoos--fake and temporary--she knew she'd never get one. Her daddy hadn't hid any details about it--about how it had bled when they jabbed his skin with the ink-filled needle and how it had hurt so much, but her had kept quiet.

  


Within ten minutes, she was bored and she walked to the kitchen, glancing at the time. It was ten o'clock at night. Outside it was dark and nothing moved--nothing save cars and those in them and the occasional animal.

  


Reaching into the pantry, she pulled out the ingredients to make scones, then went to the refrigerator to retrieve more. She mixed them all together quickly, efficiently, then started to preheat the oven. She liked making scones--they were delicious and easy to make, yet time-consuming. She could make so much of them in so many different shapes, too.

  


As she let the scones cook, she signed onto AOL and logged into a chat room. The people there were boring and uninteresting, but she talked anyway. Whenever asked her age, she always said twenty--nearly ten years off her real age. As she did this, she wandered around the internet, going onto random websites and talking to even more random people. People she didn't know. People she would never know. 

  


Some that looked at her kind of pictures.


	7. Chapter 7

Cassidy

  


Two new friends, two new friends she held close. Two new friends who had sworn never to hurt her. She had a pack now--a pack she refused to trust overly much, but a pack nevertheless.

  


They were there for her and she was there for them.

  


She had a new world now, too. A world that was comforting in a strange way. Sleepovers transformed for her from innocent things where one would call boys and flirt meaninglessly with them and play dress up even though it was child-esq to times where, when the moon was full and high in the sky, she would sneak out with her friends and sit in the front yard, underneath the tree that lay there waiting for their arrival, and chant spells that were truly comforting in a way that no other had been to her.

  


Spells of protection, luck, money, good health. They were ruled by the Rule of Three--whatever you gave out you got back three times.

  


They were wise enough to stay away from love spells--they knew what would happen should they use one of those and have it work. Spells of death or that would inflict harm were also undoubtedly against the rules.

  


Crystals, candles, wax, paper. All were used.

  


Her new world was welcome. Her new world was warm.

  


And she loved it.

  


The neighbor boys were out as well--they had no curfew, they had no rules. Free birds yet choosing a cage over the sky. She knew all of them--their range varying from acquaintance to friend. One rode over to them on his bike, stopping with one foot placed on the ground and the other on the pedal, as if ready to speed off at any moment.

  


"What are you doing, Cassidy?"

  


She looked up at him casually. "Nothing, really." Her body language betrayed her--it was something and she was sure he saw.

  


He nodded slowly. "Don't want me to tell your parents?"

  


She shook her head. Her friends turned their heads to look at the boy, assess him. Apparently, he was okay, because they went back to the spell supplies--tonight it was for luck.

  


He shrugged and sped off, following his brothers down to the gas station down the street.

  


She looked to her friends and she received a smile and a nod--one from each of them. The they continued with their spell.

  


She was a witch now. A minor one, but one nonetheless. She loved it, loved the feeling of belonging.

  


The feeling of belonging, however, vanished daily.


	8. Chapter 8

Gabrielle

  


Mommy's new husband was strange. He was a gentleman. The wedding was nice and so was the honeymoon. She got to sit in a large tub shaped like a heart big enough for her to swim in! She loved it. She had gotten a big sister, too.

  


But now, months after their marriage, they were fighting. She hated their yelling, wished it would stop, but all she could do was sit there and try as hard as she could to block it out. She weren't sure if every other weekend, when she went to visit her daddy, was a blessing or a curse.

  


Both were drinkers. Why wouldn't they stop drinking? She hated alcohol already, and she was only a child. 

  


She woke up gasping, her body arched, her eyes wide with panic, beaded with sweat, her clothes sticking to her reassuringly. But that wasn't her nightmare this time. This time she had dreamt she had drank and smoked--just like her daddy. After gaining conscious knowledge and reassurance that it hadn't happened, she broke out in sobs. "You said you would give it up," she sobbed. "Why aren't you giving it up?"

  


The next day she met up with her two friends, both named Matthew, who lived in close-by neighborhoods--exciting neighborhoods, neighborhoods with actual children to play with. One of them was from Australia--he had been born there, but had moved to America when he was only a few years old, so he had a hint of an accent still--and the other one was born and raised in America. All of them were on scooters.

  


They played for a while, laughing and happy as children should be. 

  


These were the moments she lived for--these happy, blissful moments. Not the ones at home. Not the ones where her Mommy and Pop (step-dad) were fighting or her daddy.

  


Not the moments that were coming when she got home.

  


Not the moments that awaited her in a few days.


	9. Chapter 9

Jessica

  


She loved walking around outside at night. Night was a sanctuary of hers. A sanctuary, but not the only one. The other ones were certain places outside and one was on the computer. Some in her closet.

  


Her hands were pressed to the inside of her jacket's pockets. She wore jeans, a simple T-shirt and a jacket as well as tennis shoes. Her hair lied against her shoulder, comforting arms that never left her and protective curtains when she bowed her head.

  


She looked out to the parking lot to the apartment complex she lived in and remembered that there was a church on the other side. She liked going to the church after hours. Normally she only walked around at night with her friends, but tonight she felt like being alone.

  


She walked through the parking lot, heading for the wall blocking her way to the church. Once there, she climbed up a nearby tree and stepped on top of the wall, walking the straight line of it as she watched the priest walk around outside--probably headed for his car. She jumped down from the wall, ignoring the pain that lanced through her legs, and walked towards the man, ignoring the pain still.

  


"Hello, my child," he greeted her.

  


I'm not your child or else you would have me posing for you and your friends, she thought bitterly. She simply nodded at him in response, but made no move to leave or indicate that she had finished whatever business she had with him.

  


"Do you need something, my child?"

  


"Stop calling me your child, you hypocrite," she shot back.

  


He was stunned, she could see it on his face. 

  


She simply shook her head at him. "You say you serve God, but do you really? From what I can say, you're as much of a sinning ass as the rest of us--of them." Then she turned around and headed back the way she came.

  


Before she could even get to the wall, however, he started to come towards her. His face was calm, as was his body language. "Child, what has---who---?" He couldn't find the right wording, she could see it on his face--his old, sinning, middle-aged face.

  


She climbed onto the wall and looked down at him, smirking. "'What has happened to you? Who has hurt you so? What made you think like such?'" she said, stealing the questions she was almost positive he was going to ask.

  


He nodded. 

  


She sat down on the edge of the wall, facing him, her legs spread and placing her elbows on her knees, leaning towards him. Her daddy never went to church and neither did she. It was safe to tell her story to this man, then. After all, she'd never see him again. She hoped.

  


"Do you have a computer? It's easier for me to explain, then."


	10. Chapter 10

Cassidy

  


School was not so accepting of what she now was. In fact, truth be told, it was now even more hostile towards her than before. Rumors were spread about her and her friends almost on a weekly basis now. She'd become numb long since, though. It didn't matter anymore. She would just have to deal with it.

  


She had forgotten one small detail about her school, though. She had forgotten the fact that her school had a lot of gang members in it and that damn near all of them thought like neanderthalic colonists--in their book, witches were the devil in the shape of a woman. They failed to understand that males could be witches as well, but no matter.

  


Knives, though prohibited on school grounds, were constantly being brought to school and she was on the receiving end of them. 

  


She grabbed onto one of their wrists, biting down with her fingers and then twisting their wrist to a point of pain until they cried out and dropped the knife. With a quick movement, she slammed her palm into the person's neck. Danielle, one of her witch friends, swung forward with a kick, slamming the person into a tree. Holly, her other witch friend, slammed her knee into their stomach, pinning them to the tree. "Now stay away and back off, son of a bitch." With a deft movement, she slammed her elbow into the side of their face, then all three walked away.

  


"And tell your buddies to stay away, too," Danny shot over her shoulder, grinning malevolently--meaningfully.

  


The bell for school to start rung and the three walked towards their first period class together.

  


After school the three ran together like wild animals, gulping the air like starved things--things starved for life.

  


Once they arrived in a nearby drugstore, they threw each other grins and gave each other hand signals--the middle finger, slamming their fist into the crook of their elbow while the other arm stood erect in the air. Signals that were insults but signs.

  


Cassidy, the one who always had to fight in school, the one who was hurt and betrayed and bullied. Holly, the orphan that moved from foster home to foster home, the one who had so much anger pent up that animals became her toys, her vents. Danielle, the one who was abused, the one who had to fight to keep her body her own.

  


Cassidy didn't feel alone anymore. They were all damaged beyond repair, they all had to keep their stories their own.

  


She stopped, a boy from school in front of her, swinging a chain in circles in his left hand, his right hand carelessly placed in his pocket, a wry grin on his face.

  


"So what are you three?"

  


She lifted her chin slightly, showing him that she wouldn't back down.

  


"The Witches?" Pause. "The Wretched?" Pause. He grinned, his eyes, even at thirteen--the same age as all of them--assessing and calculating. "The Damaged?"

  


Cassidy stepped forward, her eyes analyzing. She already had found something interesting about him.

  


Holly walked in then, stopping a few feet behind the boy. She saw the look in Cassidy's eyes and smiled, returning her eyes to the boy. Cass was already fairly sure of what the other girl was thinking, but kept her focus on the boy.

  


"Why do you call yourself that?" she asked, leaning against the shelves, knowing the boy wouldn't try anything and, if he did, that Holly would keep him from doing it. "You're not calling us wretched, witches, or damaged, you're calling yourself that." She leaned forward. "You're just like us, dolt, you just won't admit it to everyone else because you're weak." He narrowed his eyes. She went on. "You're afraid of the others at school. But you're not afraid because you know what they'll do, you're afraid because you know what they can do."

  


She stood up straight and walked forward, towards him. She was taking a big chance and she knew it, she could see it in Holly's eyes and Danny's as she stopped next to Holly. "You've seen the demons of hell, you've been hurt and hurt bad."

  


He lunged forward, throwing his left arm back, ready to strike her.


	11. Chapter 11

Gabrielle

  


Pop wanted to adopt her and her brother, her daddy wanted to keep them. It was another battle, and a battle she didn't want any part of but was involuntarily stuck in the middle of.

  


She had had enough. She didn't want her daddy touching her anymore, she didn't want her daddy hitting or yelling at her anymore, she didn't want to listen to the grown-up's fighting. She didn't want to watch all of the drinking and drugs anymore.

  


She wanted to be free.

  


So she decided to act on her wants. She grabbed a bag and threw some things in it. Clothes, some books, food, bottles of water. and thirteen dollars--all the money she had with her.

  


It was time she left this place.

  


The night was crisp, fresh, warm. Welcoming.

  


It was enough. She stepped forward, her bag slung over her shoulder. 

  


By the morning, she was already on the highway. The sun roused her from her half-asleep state on the sidewalk. The cars didn't bother her so much, but it had kept her from falling soundly asleep. Looking at the sky, she saw it was just dawn--the sun had barely shown a sliver of its whole self.

  


A semi truck honked its horn at her and she jumped, startled, and twisted to face the thing.

  


"Do want a ride, girlie?" the man in the driver's seat asked, a smile on his face.

  


He seemed welcoming enough and he had slowed so that, if she wanted, she could run and jump in. Which was what she did.

  


She smiled at the man, buckling in, grasping her bag with her heels so it wouldn't fall out the still-open door. "Thanks," she said, closing the door.

  


"Don't thank me, it was the least I could do," he replied, speeding up. "So how old are you, anyway?"

  


She looked out the window, something she automatically did--something that she had just learned to do from too many car trips. "I'm eleven."


	12. Chapter 12

Jessica

  


She scrolled down the webpage, the priest leaning over her shoulder, his eyes wide. With desire or disgust--or maybe even a mix of the two--she didn't know. Finally she got to her pictures. "This is me," she said, getting up from the chair and turning around to face the priest. She wanted to watch his reaction. He was staring, open-mouthed, at the pictures, his face paled and with a tint of green, as if he were sick.

  


Maybe he is, she thought.

  


"I'm a whore. I'm a prostitute. I'm a porn star." She pushed herself to sit on the desk, her legs spread--they always were, it was like a reflex of hers: Spread your legs in case they want it. A voice inside her somewhere said it was okay, that she could let it spill.

  


"I'm the filthiest thing in this universe, I'm one of those who are disgusting and wrong. I'm worse than darkness and I'm worse than pain." She paused as he slowly dragged his eyes from her pictures to her. "I'm the scum of this earth. I am Lust's servant and minion." He had to take a seat but he refused to sit in front of the computer, instead sitting on one of those cheap chairs one could buy for two or three dollars. "I am not a sinner, but one of the many embodiments of Lust." She grinned, but it was a smile of anger, self-hatred, and pain. "I'm nine."

  


Tears sprung to her eyes and her face flushed with shame at them. "And I'm all alone." Her voice broke on the last word. "My mommy died when I was just a child, leaving me with my daddy." She swallowed the lump in her throat and, for a moment, she thought she had gotten a small cut on her lip or inside of her mouth because she tasted, or thought she did, blood.

  


She was tearing the twine out. She was telling her story--opening her mouth.

  


"And my da--" She swallowed, the lump in her throat getting bigger as were her tears. "My daddy needed money and he needed a lot of it. So on top of his job, he ha--" Swallow. "Had me. He needs a lot of money to keep up for the expense of bee--alcohol and d... drugs, you see."

  


Looking up at the priest, she saw that his jaw was clenched, his muscles tight, and his eyes screwed shut. She wondered if he would hurt her.

  


Instead, he choked out, "Go on." From just those two words, she was able to recognise what he was holding back and the fact that he even felt it at her words fascinated her so that she leaned forward slightly, without even realising it herself.

  


Rage.


	13. Chapter 13

Cassidy

  


His name was Jean. He had to fight all of his life--it was natural now. Fight or die. Option one or option two. Now he knew option three. Join.

  


She leaned against his back at lunch, scratching her leg though it didn't itch. Danny ran back to them, holding three warm cookies from the cafeteria.

  


Cassidy's eyes were shrouded by emotions, her eyes half-lidded to keep others from seeing. She reached out a hand towards Holly and she took it, leaning her head against Cassidy's legs in a comforting gesture, the cold stones of the short wall Cass and Jean were sitting at pressed against her back. They were thankful for the square of roof they had over their heads--it was raining again that day.

  


Danny sat down in between Holly's spread legs--spread only because she knew Danny would want to sit there. Danny reached out her hand to Jean, smiling at him. Danny was generally a pretty perky person in free time.

  


Jean took her hand, though it was in a hesitating gesture, and Cassidy took the other. 

  


The scene was intimate in a way unrecognisable.

  


Then Holly said, "Timothy Banks and his crew beat my little sister yesterday."

  


Immediately Cassidy's and Danny's eyes hardened. Jean stiffened and Cassidy squeezed his hand reassuringly.

  


Danny was the first one to speak, and she spoke with a smile and in a cheery tone. "Well we'll just have to pass on a message, then."

  


Cassidy rubbed her and Holly's joined hands against Holly's cheek, assuring her of wordless things.


	14. Chapter 14

Gabrielle

  


Her dreams were dark.

  


She could hear their yelling from the other end of the house--not that there was any way to escape it. Their screams and shouts were everywhere, trapping her, tearing at her. Why wouldn't they just shut up?

  


Shit up, shut up, shut up.

  


She wanted to scream. At them, at her daddy, at herself... at the world.

  


They wouldn't stop. Why wouldn't they just STOP? They said they were only talking whenever she asked them what they had been fighting about. It wasn't talking.

  


Doors slammed, glass shattered, shouts continued. Someone yelled out in pain.

  


SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP.

  


She dug her fingernails into the sides of her head. 

  


"Speak no evil, see no evil, hear no evil."

  


She wanted to tear off her ears--she wouldn't be able to hear them, then.

  


She wanted to tear out her eyes--she didn't want to see them.

  


She didn't have to sow her mouth shut--she already had the twine there.

  


They still didn't stop.

  


SHUT UP. SHUT UP. SHUT UP.

  


She banged her head against a wall and wondered why she didn't feel any pain. She hit it harder.

  


Ah, there it was.

  


A hand shook her shoulder and she jerked awake, gasping for air. For a moment, she reveled in the silence. They had stopped yelling. Finally they had stopped yelling.

  


She started to sob with relief but caught herself a moment too late.

  


But they weren't even there. They were probably still at home, yelling at each other.

  


"Are you alright, girl?"

  


Her hands shook and she looked up at him. He was a man, about twenty, she guessed. 

  


"Yes, you can," she said. "You can take me far, far away from here and my nightmares."

  


She knew only two ways to do that.

  


"Kill me or make me forget." Her lower lip trembled in an effort to hold herself together. "Please."


	15. Chapter 15

Jessica

  


She nudged her daddy's shoulder with his foot, lighting one of his cigarettes as she did so. No doubt, he was passed out cold. She inhaled, the smoke and chemicals filling her lungs, and then coughed. It was her first time. She wanted to find out why the things were so appealing. She found nothing.

  


She inhaled the smoke again, ignoring the burn in her lungs, and walked to the fridge. Opening it, she pulled out an already opened beer. Shaking it, she found it to be half full. Unusual. But she removed the cigarette from her lips and chugged it anyway, having to focus in order to keep it down. Nasty.

  


She grabbed another and closed the fridge with her foot.

  


She walked back over to her daddy's passed out body and knelt next to it so that she was almost face-to-face with the passed out bastard. 

  


"Sick, selfish swine. Just looking at your ugly-ass mug makes me want to wretch." A burst of violence exploded within her and she suddenly had the urge to grab a knife and carve his face off and then pull out his organs in the most excruciating of ways.

  


She grinned at the idea--a mirthless grin.

  


The door opened and Jessica shot a blood-chilling glare at whomever it was. She recognised the woman immediately. The only name she knew her by was Exstacie.

  


Ex-stacie.

  


Ex. Stacie.

  


Jessica stood up strait, taking a long drag from the cigarette. "He's passed out, come back later." You make me want to wretch, too, she thought. She looked at herself in a mirror. So do you, wench.

  


A few moments later, she was bent over the toilet, cigarette in one hand, bottle of beer in the other. Wretch, damn it, wretch! She slammed down another few good chugs of beer, trying to get herself to throw up.

  


It didn't work.

  


"Damn it!" she yelled, pushing herself away from the toilet and throwing down her bottle of beer, the glass shattering against the floor. She threw the cigarette into the toilet, and stormed towards the door, ripping her coat from the rack, and slammed the door shut as she left the apartment. 

  


Two-one-six.

  


Should be six-six-six, she thought bitterly.

  


She was pissed and she wanted to destroy something. Everything.

  


She looked at the mirror placed on the balcony and glared at herself.

  


"Die, bitch." She slammed her fist into the mirror.

  


She stumbled towards the parking lot--towards the church--half drunk off of beer, half off of anger and hatred, her hand bleeding from shattering the glass.

  


I'm breaking the barrier, she thought. I'm fighting my bonds.

  


I'm escaping myself.


	16. Chapter 16

Cassidy

  


Now she was the one to crouch in the corner holding a knife. Waiting patiently. On the prowl. She looked at Holly, Danny, and Jean--all hiding in similar places to hers. All waiting for Timothy Banks. All with knives in their hands.

  


It paid off, Holly's dad selling swords, daggers, knives, and the such.

  


They weren't actually going to do anything. Just scare him.

  


Maybe cut him up a bit.

  


A footstep was the first thing to catch her attention, make her head snap up. Her hand tightened around the knife, the metal heating at her touch.

  


She could see Jean tense up and she could see Holly ready the dagger--she was trained from an early age how to handle knives and swords and how to fight with them. Danny crouched down even more so that even the top of her head, every strand of hair, was gone from view.

  


Cassidy followed suit, hiding herself as Danny did.

  


A foot entered her line of vision and she looked at Jean. He nodded.

  


She jumped out from her hiding place, startling Tim and two of his followers to back a step. Holly took her cue and jumped out then, grabbing the neophyte--they were easy to recognise--and holding her dagger to his throat.

  


Danny slunk to the other follower--not a neophyte anymore, but still relatively new.

  


Rage burned in Danny--Cassidy could see it in her eyes. Danny had known Holly and her family for years and Holly's little sister was like her own.

  


No.

  


The word crossed her mind unbidden, but befitting.

  


Danny changed her target at the last minute, raising her dagger--a sister to Holly's--and cut down deep into Tim's shoulder.

  


He gave a sort of grunt-yell and instinctively reached to grab his shoulder. In that time, Danny was readying her dagger for another strike.

  


Jean jumped down from the tree he had been hiding in and ran for the enraged girl. Cassidy ran to Tim, blocking Danny's way to him.

  


He's only thirteen, she thought--again, unbidden but befitting. We're all either thirteen or turning thirteen.

  


Danny's arms were locked in place by Jean's. She was thrashing, crazed.

  


It was too much for her, the revelation came, and Cassidy almost had the air knocked out of her from it. It was the last straw, one of the people she loves, one of the few innocent that she loves, being attacked.

  


Cassidy held out one arm, a flimsy shield for Tim without trembling, and next to useless with trembling--and it was trembling. She held her knife in front of her, ready to face her friend.

  


"Bitch," Danny growled at her. Holly stood, paralyzed at her friend's anger. She had gone numb at the news, the anger--rage--simply simmering inside of her, creating steam and pressure--she would break one day, but for Danny... "Traitor. Don't block me from him--he'll pay for his crimes. By Goddess or Horned God or by hand, he will pay!"

  


Danny ripped her arms from of Jean's grasp, dropping her dagger in the process.

  


"Danny!" Jean yelled out, throwing his weapon behind him, enabling him to run faster.

  


Cassidy turned her head to face Tim. "Get out of here!" she yelled.

  


Danny grabbed the hand Cassidy used to hold her dagger and ripped it from her grasp.

  


"Danny!" Jean yelled again. Not even a second later--"Cassidy!"

  


That was her only warning. Cassidy spun her head around and faced Danny just as a sharp, burning pain flared to life in her chest. Her hands flew to the source of the pain.

  


It's so warm, she thought. I had expected it being so wet, but never so warm. So wet--so much.

  


Shows how many times I've bled in my life.


	17. Chapter 17

Gabrielle

  


The man's name was Mike, or so he had told her. Liars were far from few and far between. Regardless, he allowed her to sleep on his couch--he had offered his bed, but she had refused. The next morning, he had given her some cereal and offered her to stay another day. She said she'd think about it and decide at the end of the day.

  


She knew, though, that she would stay, even as she walked down the streets of San Francisco with her bag slung over her shoulder.

  


She knelt down at a flower stand, inhaling a lily's sweet scent. 

  


I'll stay for one more day, she told herself. Just one more day.

  


She had said that to herself a week ago.

  


Now she didn't even bother taking her bag with her--Mike knew she'd come back. He'd even gone so far as to buy her a new dress and a blanket and had given her a pillow.

  


She had made a friend--the woman who owned the flower stand. She was about fifty or so and had grey hair, run through with streaks of white.

  


She sat down on a step, close to Mrs. Robbinson--the woman who owned the flower stand.

  


"So how are things with Michael?" she asked, her voice a reminder of her age if she ignored her appearance in every other aspect.

  


Gabrielle, who had also acquired a loving nickname--Gabby, smiles up at Mrs. Robbinson. "They're good. He just got me a blanket." She jumped up, twirling around. "And look at the dress he got me!"

  


Mrs. Robbinson smiled and laughed--her voice, eyes, and wrinkled face filled with mirth. She knew that the girl had had it hard but she didn't know the details. She didn't know that she had run away from her home.

  


If Gabby had anything to say about it, she wouldn't know for a while, too.

  


Mike walked over, knowing well where Gabby always stayed when not at his apartment, and sat down, motioning for her to sit next to her. He wasn't a fool, he saw that she was afraid of being too close to him.

  


Suddenly, a police man appeared. "Gabrielle Mandela?"

  


Gabby looked up automatically at her name, her expression confused. 

  


He leaned down and grabbed her by the elbow. "Come with me, your parents have been looking for you."

  


Her eyes widened and, for a moment, she froze, only moving because the man was dragging her. Then the man's words sunk in. "No!" she yelled. "No no no! NO! Let go of me!" But it was too late, she was already in the back of the car. She pounded at the window, trying the door handle only to find it locked. "No! Mike! Mrs. Robbinson! No no no no no!" Tears coursed down her cheeks.

  


The police man sat in the driver's seat and closed the door, turning on the car and setting it into "drive."


	18. Chapter 18

Jessica

  


The next morning she had a headache. No, it was worse. It felt like her head was being torn in half. Slowly, very, very slowly.

  


It was cold. So, so cold. And hard. Like ice that refused to melt. She opened her eyes. No wonder, she was lying down in an empty parking space.

  


She pushed herself up with her hands, feeling a piece of cloth brush against her arm. Funny, she thought. I don't remember putting on my coat. I brought it, though. She looked around, finding it lying against a wall. Then what's...?

  


She looked down.

  


Her shirt's buttons had popped off, though she wasn't sure how--she certainly didn't have the strength to yank even one off without using a knife to cut some of the strings attaching them. Looking down even more, ignoring the fact that her chest was showing, she saw that the button on her jeans had flown off, too--definitely don't have that much strength--and her zipper was undone. Except her pants weren't even on her, they were leaning up against the tyre of someone's car, dead as a maiden with a knife through her chest. Her underwear were hanging onto her legs by one ankle.

  


She wiped her mouth, finding that something had dried around there, around her lips. Wonderful, someone made me do oral on them. From the looks of my clothes, it looks like they did a lot more, too.

  


She staggered back into two-one-six, her clothes left behind.

  


Her daddy stood in the living room, wearing a dress shirt and blue jeans. He turned around to face her as she entered the door. On the couch, she saw, a woman lied down, completely in the nude and covering up nothing.

  


"Come on Jessica, get dressed. We're going to go to church today."

  


She blinked in surprise. Church. That was a first. Her daddy never went to church.

  


A few moments later, she walked out of her room wearing black pants that stuck tight to her legs and a blue shirt that was one size too big, tucked into her pants and with invisible string tied around her elbows and wrists.

  


They walked out to the parking lot but, to her surprise, they didn't head for the car. 


	19. Chapter 19

Richard

  


Richard Solomon got ready for that morning's service, fixing his clothing so he wouldn't look shabby. He was still trying to hold himself back from hunting down Jessica's--she had told him her name the night before in a drunken stupor--father and murdering him.

  


How could a father do that to his child? Hell, he doesn't even deserve to be called "father!"

  


Jessica's story was bone-chilling and it made him want to vomit all over the men who had done such horrible things to her--insolent bastards! Silently, he made a vow that if he ever saw her with her father, he wouldn't kill the man, but that he would call the police.

  


He walked out to take his appropriate place, the service just about to begin. He fidgeted with his cuffs a bit, an attempt to keep his mind from the girl and to keep his mounting anger in check.

  


Then he looked up.

  


And he ran for the phone and dialed 9-1-1.

  


"Hello? Yes, I need the police over here, right now." He gave the address. When asked why, he said, "Because if you don't get over here right now, a man will be seriously injured." Then he hung up.


	20. Chapter 20

Holly

  


She watched in silence as her friend's--Cassidy's--coffin was lowered, her body jerking violently in an effort to hold back the tears. Jean held on to her, tears coursing down his cheeks as well.

  


Danny had been shipped off to jouvie and now Tim, his two followers--now very much not so, Holly, and Jean were in extensive counseling. Danny, too, Holly guessed, but she hadn't spoken to her since right after she had killed Cassidy--and even then it was more screaming than anything. Jean had to hold her back to keep her from killing Danny herself.

  


All of the survivors save for Danny now stayed in a psychiatric ward, lived with others who had been through similar things--felt similar, if not the same, things.


	21. Chapter 21

Gabrielle

  


Mike sat next to her and she leaned against him, her eyes red and sore from crying. But it wasn't sad tears this time--she was so happy.

  


Her parents were signing the contract, signing over guardianship to Mike. It had taken Gabrielle five times of running away, of running to Mike, for them to finally get the message. Now she was being adopted by him--her little brother, sadly, had to stay with their parents, but she would keep in contact with him and, when he was old enough, he could come live with Mike and her. Hopefully.

  


She closed her eyes and listened to the pen scratching away and she smiled. It was over. She was finally out of that hell.


	22. Chapter 22

Jessica

  


She stared at her father--she no longer called him daddy--stoically from the other end of the glass.

  


"Jess? Honey?"

  


"Never talk to me again, you bloody bastard," she hissed at him. "Stay the hell away from me and never talk to me again--don't send letters, e-mails, nothing."

  


He was shocked into silence.

  


"If I could stab you right now, I would." It came out just above a whisper, but she knew he had heard it, and if not, the rage evident in her voice.

  


She walked out.

  


Once gone, she was taken into warm, welcoming arms. She took the person who embraced her lovingly and embraced them just as lovingly. Why should she not love him? He had saved her from hell. 

  


She cried and Richard rubbed her back, offering words of comfort and love--real love, not the perverse thing her father had for her.

  


She grasped his shirt and buried her face into his neck. "Daddy..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it! See? Told you the endings were happy. Well, besides Cassidy's. Anyhow I love all of you guys for reading and I hope you guys will look up my other works when I post them! Like I said, this was one of the rare stories that was super sad. But I can assure you all that all my stories have a (mostly) happy ending. I firmly believe that in the end we don't get everything to be all sunshine and roses, but I like endings to mostly be happy.
> 
> Anyhow, love all you guys again and hope you stick around to read my other stuff! <3 :)


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